Tales of the Infected
by Eri Sawachika
Summary: A compilation of short stories featuring the zombies from Left 4 Dead 1 & 2; Hunter, Witch, Boomer, Smoker, Charger, Tank, Jockey, Spitter
1. The Hunter and The Witch

_So here I am again. Wow. I only stopped writing for a few hours. Maybe I just like writing so much. Ah well. For the record, zombies here will have names according to their type; e.g., the hunter will be called Hunter. Zombies are just so cute! *sniff*_

**The Hunter and The Witch**

Hunter ran through the pitch black streets, a grin playing at his pale lips. He was invisible and silent, the deadliest predator in the deserted city. As black as the night behind him, he leapt over obstacle sin his way, running on all fours and chasing the sweet scent of his prey - for although it was dark, his abnormal eyesight and well-trained senses allowed him to easily navigate the alleys and side-lanes and track his blind, ungainly prey.

A sharp turn down a back alley, a well-timed jump over a dumpster, and a quick left into the open door of a house and they were there; two stupid humans. Humans who couldn't smell or see or think. He had been one of them once; the thought made him shudder. But now he was the predator, and he stalked unheard to behind the people. There were two; both girls. They had obviously run into some paint buckets a while back since their faces were layered with a mixture of orange and pink powder-like substance and what of their bodies Hunter could see were startling shades of orange. They showed a disgusting amount of their fragile skin and spoke in high-pitched shrieks that were hard to miss. But what Hunter really loved about them were the shining chains held around their neck. Such precious jewels that made a high-pitched _clink_ when softly batted together, and so shiny too - beautiful to the ear and eye of any infected. Hunter grinned a sharp-toothed grin, showing his rows of gleaming teeth. He got into position, ready to pounce.

Before the girls could react, he was upon them. He jumped on one and tore the flesh from her bones, revelling in the red fluid that flowed out - but it had ruined the gleam of the neck pendant. Not one to be disgruntled, Hunter turned on the next girl, who was screaming. He fought the urge to tear her open too, and instead jumped over her shoulder, grabbing the pendants she wore instead and making off with them.

He sprinted through the streets, euphoric. In his mouth clanked two shiny golden pendants, his prize. He was the best hunter in the city and he knew it.

After running for miles, Hunter heard a heart-wrenching sound; a soft sobbing, the source of which he felt compelled to find. He took a right turning, following his impeccable hearing, and came upon a sad sight indeed; the most beautiful Witch he had ever seen, her hair a soft crimson and her head resting in her long clawed hands. Hunter approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her, and sat down next to her. In order to win her gratitude, he dropped both the pendants in her lap, then sat facing her, waiting for a reaction.

Witch stopped crying, staring down at the shining discs of gold in her lap. She picked one up and cradled it, gazing at the sheen of the surface in the milky moonlight. It was the prettiest thing she had ever encountered. Slowly, she put it around her weak neck. It was heavy, but as she got used to the feel of the chain, she looked up at the giver of the gift.

He was a Hunter, a bit taller than her; with a handsome pale face an all teeth intact. His hood hid the top part of his face, but his white eyes gazed directly into her red ones passionately.

Witch held the second necklace out to him, and he took it, placing it over his head just like she did. Then, she drew his face in close, and planted a soft peck on his cheek. Hunter's skin flushed the colour of blood, and he quickly turned and disappeared into the night behind him. Witch smiled after his shadow.

She wondered where he went, and she wondered if she'd ever see him again. A generous and good-looking Hunter like none she'd seen before. Witch stood up, and as she walked away, she made a decision.

She'd never cry again.

_A/N: So there you have it. Sorry for the short-ness. I'll try to make the next one longer. Blame it on my friends who drained my creativity halfway through. ): Ah well. Read and Review!_


	2. Best Friends Forever

_I need to get these finished fast, to make room for some AC2 stuff. Yeah, 3 fics going at a time is my rule; I'm prone to anarchy though, so I'm trying to stick to this... NNNGH. No rule breaking is hard. Anyway, tell me what you think, blah blah I think I'm crap blah blah I own nought blah blah Blerg. I realise Hunter is getting a lot of screen time. What can I say, hoodies are the sex!_

_Brb need moar crack_

**Best Friends Forever**

Smoker limped through the streets, his tongue hanging at his side, glistening with blood and leaving a trail along the pavement; a trail that would lead those survivors straight to him. He had been shot on his first ever attempt at incapacitation, and all the infected had been there to see. He'd worried more about what they'd think of him than the wound - his dreams to become the alpha of his pack were shattered, all because of his own clumsy tendencies. Not that it mattered; his allies were dead, every last one of them. He was the only one left, and his early escape had granted him a head start at least; but the humans had guns, and would always trick infected into traps involving fire and bullets and death. Most of the zombies had fled, stayed in areas rick with flesh carcass rather than attack groups of the immune; the immune who hated them so much, who would never contemplate that the infected were sentient life forms too.

He tripped. Lying on the floor, flat on his face, Smoker began to get angry. Angry, and scared. Humans loved creating issues - issues about whether they should eat meat, or whether two of the same gender should be allowed partnership, or if the ice was melting too fast - Smoker didn't understand it. It just seemed to be an inbuilt mechanism of the humans and infected that they were out to kill each other; yet if he tried voicing his thoughts he'd be cut down by both parties.

Giving up all hope, he lay and awaited his death; the freedom from this world of pain and irrationality. He could hear their footsteps, their voices; they were coming closer. The sound of guns, the smell of gunpowder, the taste of death. Smoker turned. He would face death, and remain fearless until the end. Sitting watching the corner of the alley in which he lay, he waited. The shadows of 3 gun-wielding humans danced upon the walls in front of him - this was it, the omega, the end. Facing death had never been so easy.

They rounded the corner - a girl and two men, all young, all naive to the world around them. Wearing matching uniforms, they should have been harmless; but what they held in their hands abolished all possible castes and alphas through fear. And it was working on Smoker right now.

A familiar sound cut through the distance - a scream, a flash of black, and the girl lay dead on the floor. Before the other two could react, their throats were cut by the same black blur. With the last of his strength being depleted by his useless tongue, Smoker lay back, wondering if this black streak was what death felt like, and closed his eyes.

He felt a curious nose press against his skin, pulling him back from the black abyss. A sniffing sound; someone was sniffing him back to life? Yet he couldn't move, as if he were paralyzed underwater, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't swim. Suddenly, the sniffing became a licking, and a rough tongue was licking his clothes, trying to get the taste from them. Tongue in agony, Smoker coughed and opened his eyes. A young hunter was crouching over him, surveying his wounds. At the moment of eye contact, the hunter jumped back; scared, yet still possessing the ever-inquisitive nature that one would only find in a hunter.

Smoker coughed again - he could feel the pain ripping through his throat and mouth, tearing him apart from within. Hunter leaped over to the human carcass and grabbed a red bag. Tearing it apart, he retrieved a long strip of white cloth and began wrapping it around Smoker's tongue. Smoker had seen the humans do this before to each other - it stopped their hurt and magically took away limps, or broken arms. However, the magic cloth didn't seem to work on infected, and Smoker continued to bleed and cough. Despite Hunter's clumsy claws ripping holes in the strip, he managed to stop the bleeding by wrapping the end of Smoker's tongue in it.

The pain dulled; Smoker could breathe without pain tearing him apart again. Slurping his toungue back into his mouth, he felt the bandage on the end - unnatural, and ungainly. However, the pain was ebbing, and he had Hunter to thank. He nodded to Hunter and turned, slowly starting to walk away. For who would have him now - his only weapon was crippled, and he aspired to become a leader. His hopes were dashed and his dreams were redundant - there was no point in sucking Hunter into his depression.

Yet he soon heard the patter of footsteps behind him, and turning, he found Hunter following on all fours. He smiled - another lost, abandoned infected soul, with nowhere else to turn.

In return, he received a sharp-toothed grin; Hunter stood up on two legs, his hunch granting him a lack of height, and walked up to Smoker.

There were no other infected around, they were forced to work together anyway - but this bond went deeper. Hunter had saved Smoker's useless life, and followed him regardless when Smoker turned his back. He felt bad for walking away from Hunter, and so held out his hand, as he'd seen the humans do.

Hunter clasped it, and vigorously yanked it. The handshake - a human gesture of friendship, frowned upon by other infected as were all human gestures. But wasn't the feeling of friendship human too; and wasn't that what they felt for each other?

Grinning, the two infected walked out of the shadow of the alley, into the sunlight, and into danger.

They were scared, angry, and crippled; yet bound together through the bond they shared.

After all, weren't they once human?


	3. Stronger on the Inside

_Inner ramblings of the author (reading obligatory):_

_When I'm writing a story, I usually do it at night, when all my family's asleep. It's 'coz throughout the day I'm busy playing on the xbox, but when it comes to night my energy's all preserved. I guess I vent it by writing. And when I'm writing, I do it in bursts; I'll write part of a chapter (or a whole one, or sometimes more!) and then just stop. That's when I read some of the reviews I get and it really spurs me on, makes me wanna finish. :)_

**Stronger on the Inside**

Charger lurked behind the pillar and watched Tank destroy all the humans left alive in the mall atrium. They'd tried to hold the infected off - but due to Tank's brute strength, had failed miserably. Charger watched as Tank sent a gaggle of them flying through the air; they'd landed, incapacitated, but still alive. Before they could make a move, Spitter had run in behind them, and gave them a healthy dose of her acid. Tank nodded her way, and she gurgled a laugh. Charger would give anything to be that powerful, to demand the respect of others, and to have the illustrious Spitter to fight as his side and aid him in battle.

And he'd treat Spitter with the respect she deserved - more than a nod.

A human cry sounded behind him, and Charger turned, finding himself facing a screaming girl. Surprised, he readied himself for the charge - but Smoker got there first, choking the girl in his powerful tongue swiftly. Even as he grabbed the girl, he cackled and coughed, mocking Charger for failing to take down a young human female. Turning and moping away, Charger saw that Tank had finished off everyone else in the vicinity - the rest of the infected had seen his failed attempt at a kill, and stood silently watching him.

It started with Witch, much to everyone's surprise. Her sobbing seemed to speed up, and rise in pitch, until it became a rare laugh; the witch had her head in her hands, and was sat on the floor in stitches. Followed by the manic laughing of Jockey and the wild screaming of the common infected, Charger become the centre of attention as his peers started to laugh at his weak fail. Tank's roaring lungs cut above all the others as he mocked Charger in a display of an Alpha's strength.

Charger grunted - he hated being the laughing stock, the one everyone looks down upon. Just for once, he wanted to be top dog. Inspiration struck - he had an idea; a suicidal idea but an idea nonetheless.

He started to walk towards Tank; his swift walk broke into a run, and then a charge. Before Tank could realise what Charger was doing, he'd slammed the large infected off his feet and into the wooden scaffolding behind, sending it cascading to the ground; covering both in them in panels of heavy wood and lead pipe.

For a while, there was nothing. The shock of the charge had stopped the laughter, and replaced it with a deathly silence - the best and worst fighters were trapped underneath the rubble, with no means to escape. The infected had lost a leader - a disrespectful, unfair leader, but a powerful ally nonetheless, and the blow had shattered their confidence.

A movement sought the attention of all the infected - a movement in the rubble. Boomer started to waddle forward to help, but Spitter's outstretched arm stopped him in his tracks. From the rubble, covered in dust and splinters, rose Charger; the victorious weaker infected.

He stood and stared at them, challenging them to beat him. When none dared stand against him, he stepped down from the podium of destruction, descending towards his friends. With an assumed alpha leadership, Charger was pleased that he'd beaten the unbeatable, and could rest peacefully without the big bad wolf teasing him every time he missed a charge.

Or so he thought.

A massive shadow spread over the ground before him. Turning, Charger found himself staring directly into the eyes of a berserk, red-faced Tank. Fear gluing his feet to the spot, Charger made no move of retaliation - even though Tank was injured, he was still deadly, and Charger's time was up.

He was knocked far back by the flailing fists, and his limp body skidded across the floor; he'd landed on his weaker side. Tank roared - bruised and bloody, he began to make his way towards Charger, until something stopped him in his tracks; a sizzling sound that brought with it the smell of burning flesh. Spitter had regurgitated acid all down Tank's back.

Sensing the will of Spitter, Boomer descended on Tank, puking his deadly fluids over the wounded zombie. The common infected smelt the bile, and ran towards it, aiding in the assault upon the leader.

A whip of a tongue, a quick blurred pounce, and an aided run into the wall caused Tank to breathe his final breath, and topple onto his knees, the force of his body hitting the ground triggering a small shock wave.

The infected crowded around the corpse, stunned by the consequences of their actions. Charger watched from his floored position as the infected finished a successful mutiny. Within the blink of an eye, Spitter was standing over him, trying to drag his arge frame, trying to pull him up. Another blink of an eye and the other infected had crowded around him too, aiding in his recovery.

As he stood tall and proud, the strongest of the infected, Charger surveyed his new allies. He had been their ticket to freedom; for too long they'd lived in the shadow of Tank, but his rebellion had sparked hope, hope that lived through the tunnel of darkness to see daylight, hope that had emerged victorious.

The third awkward silence that day was broken by the sound of human voices coming from the pile of rubble - there were more. Emerging over the top was an armed survivor, readily shooting the common infected already. Spitter looked at Charger, readying herself. One by one, the others; Smoker, Boomer, Hunter, and Jockey faced Charger as their new leader, waiting for him to start.

And without delay, he charged, hitting every one of his targets.

* * *

_So this is the end of my second story; the first finished fic I have. It's kinda weird for me, thinking I won't be updating this any more - but that's more of a promise to myself than anyone else. If I get a streak of inspiration, I'd be sure to add and upload. Funnily enough, the only thing I can think of right now (write now hehehe bad joke is baaad (another bad joke; baa as in sheep as in I'm Welsh)) is The Blackout - Save Our Selves. The lines "This is where it all began/This is where the story ends/We will never need to leave/But we keep running" in particular. Also, for any Welshies, I've got another background theme; "SOSBAN FAAACH, YN BERWI AR Y TAN/SOSBAN FAAACH, YN BERWI AR Y LLAWR/AR GATH WEDI SGRAPO JONI BAAAACH" except it's the shitty dance version that that one guy did on that show a couple of years back so it's just nonsensical nonsense. ALSO I SAW ADAM RHYS JONES IN TESCO TODAY! :D_


End file.
